78. Dippin and Dabblin on Oscar Grant

Nope, I'm not back. Still on a blogging vacay.

But I came across a post on the murder trial for the cop who shot Oscar Grant in California and I wanted to comment. Ever since news came that Johan Mehserle would be charged with murder, and not manslaughter, I've been really pessimistic about the outcome.

As I understand it (from watching Law & Order), the difference between murder and manslaughter is that murder is intentional, and manslaughter is not. That is, in either case, someone causes the death of someone else. But a murderer does whatever they did intending to cause a death, whereas someone who commits manslaughter does something stupid or negligent that results in a death.

This is important because Mehserle has always maintained that he meant to pull out his (gun-shaped) taser in the train station, and not his gun. This is supported in some sense by his body language after the shooting. In the video of the incident he immediately raises his hands to his head in full-on "What did I just do?" posture. And if he truly was mistaken, or if even one person out of 12 believes he was, a murder conviction becomes highly improbable. On the other hand, if the charge were manslaughter, it doesn't matter what he meant to do. He committed an erroneous action that resulted in the death of another person. Case closed.

I'm hoping that California is one of the places where "lesser included charges" are part of the process. That would mean that a jury could find a murder defendant "not guilty" of the crime of murder, but still render a "guilty" verdict on the "lesser included charge" of manslaughter. I.e. "You didn't do quite what they say you did, but you did do something." That seems the only realistic road to a conviction at this point.

77. Dead Air

I'm gonna be MIA for a bit while I attempt to get some things in order. Got some family stuff this weekend. Helping the homies move next week. Doing a writing intensive for the proposal. Trying to get the diet and run life back on track. Etcetera, blah, and so forth.

I hope to come back in a couple weeks with a lively post on how I celebrated the Celtics and Blackhawks' championships. Later kiddies.

76. Quote of the Day

"A ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for."

~ William Shedd, via The Maven

75. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

Living in Chicago year-round means you have to be prepared to dress for nearly every climate known to man. Whether it's 103 degrees or -17, you gotta go to work, which for most of us means leaving the house (I plan to get around this one day... but that's another post).

The best and worst thing about this is that I "have to" maintain two almost completely separate wardrobes. One for October thru May, and one for June thru September. Whatever the calendar says, summer starts when I pack up the sweaters and ends when I pull them back out. For 2010, summer started May 28th.

That was the day I pulled my box of summer gear out of the crawl space, and unpacked 19 pairs of pants and skirts, 17 dresses, and a dozen or so cute sleeveless tops. On the one hand, switching the winter clothes out is annually one of my favorite things to do. It's like getting a whole new wardrobe every year ("I totally forgot about this dress!"). On the other hand, every year I feel a little more guilty about the fact that I have enough clothing to clothe 2 or 3 people really well.

This isn't totally wasteful. Anything you wear in August in Chicago is almost certainly useless in February. But I could probably be more efficient if I tried. Not sure how, but probably. At the very least I could stop buying new stuff. Except shoes. I still got big plans for my shoe game.

74. By the By...

Last night was another very decent sports night for me. Celtics got the split in L.A. (best we could hope for) and the Blackhawks are one win away from the Stanley Cup. Question is: If I had to choose, would I rather have the Cup or another Celtics title (Lakers loss)? Hmmmmmm...

73. Ctrl + Alt + Delete

I've done a fair bit of traveling lately. Not a legendary amount, but more than I have been doing. This means that I've been away from my disciplined space (home), eating other people's food, sleeping when and where I could, and most unfortunately, not running.

But... never fear. Unless I'm forgetting something, I'm home for the next two months without interruption. That ought to mean reading, writing, running, eating and sleeping with a much more regular frequency. I have big things planned for school. I'm trying to get off crack ice cream. My running shoes are ready to go. And I'm working my way back toward a decent bedtime.

So... Deep breath. In... Out... Reboot.

72. This Can't Be Life

As an unmarried, unchilded person, I have a tremendous amount of free time. And I spend a good bit of it thinking of what to do with myself in lieu of getting married and having children. Perhaps more than any living person I know, I am possessed with the question of what one ought properly to do with a life. How do we spend it without wasting it?

If it's possible to waste one's money, which is infinitely replaceable, it must be possible to waste one's life, which is not. And so, if a life is worth spending well, and I'm certain it is, how are we to spend it? For parents I think this question answers itself. Life begets life, and parents spend a good portion of their lives in raising their children. While I wonder if simply making more people is the whole point of life, I have to acknowledge that it's a least one helluva contribution. So... 2 points for parents.

What about the rest of us though? I could cheat and say I'll make a contribution by teaching or helping to enrich the lives of other people's children. I do plan to do those things. But I don't think that's the point. Why bother raising good people who raise good people who only raise more good people? What are they being raised to do? What are they being educated for? Why are they taught to speak? What is it that might one day be worth saying?

I have to think that the point of living isn't simply to make other living things; that the point of our existence isn't simply to ensure that we continue to exist. Human beings are uniquely capable of making and un-making the world, of leaving it differently than we found it (for better or worse), of doing things. And so what will I do?

The truth is that I have a fairly good idea why I'm here. I'm a writer. Whatever I contribute to the world will almost undoubtedly involve words printed on a page somewhere. But beyond that... beyond the work... In the day-to-day, what are we to do? How are we to breathe? How are we to live? How are we to speak and of what sorts of things? The answers to these questions feel, in a very real way, like matters of life and death.

71. The Wisdom of John Wooden

John Wooden, legendary basketball coach of UCLA, died this weekend at the age of 99. Since he was revered as much for his character as for his coaching, most of the tributes have been personal. ESPN published a list of highlights from his quotes over the years. I recommend reading the entire list. But for the hard-headed =), here are a few of my favorites:

Never mistake activity for achievement.

Adversity is the state in which man mostly easily becomes acquainted with himself, being especially free of admirers then.

Be quick, but don't hurry.

You can't live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you.

A coach is someone who can give correction without causing resentment.

If you're not making mistakes, then you're not doing anything. I'm positive that a doer makes mistakes.

Don't measure yourself by what you have accomplished, but by what you should have accomplished with your ability.



Rest in peace, Coach Wooden.

70. "Sh*t... We do this every weekend."

*This post should've been written by someone else. But she's fighting her blogging destiny, so I'm writing it.*

Friday night I met the homies at a lounge in the West Loop to continue the celebration of our latest Ph.D. They had a table, and there was no cover... so far, so good.

I walk in and immediately recognize this dude I know standing inside the door. I nod and speak. No response.

Problem #1: I do not know this person. I've just seen him in so many clubs in the last 2 years that I recognized his face and thought I knew him. Conclusion: One or both of us is spending too much time in the club. I digress...

I make it over to the table, dance for a lil bit, and have a seat. "Blow the Whistle" comes on. Homie 1 and Homie 2 lose their minds and get to dancing on a leather couch in stilettos. A bad idea if you ask me, but they aren't my couches. And everyone else is doing it, so...

At this point a young woman standing behind our couch sees how much fun we're having and tells her friend "I wanna go dance with them." Her friend tries to discourage her, but she's determined. And since I dig the communal party experience (some of my best moments in the club have come dancing with strangers... I see you, Chic From Le Passage), I smile at her, effectively giving her the Okay. And she makes her way over. At this point we encounter...

Problem #2: This chic is wasted. Grown and wasted. After I put my hand out to keep her from falling on her *ss, she spends 20 minutes thanking me, telling me how well I was raised, how much she appreciates black women being able to support each other, how she wants us to be friends in real life, how she's gonna "be somebody" in Chicago politics, and how if I ever need anything I can call her. Yes, everyone in the club is drinking, but I figure the acceptability of being that drunk in public falls off exponentially by the year after age 26. But I digress...

Sometime after chic makes her exit, Homie 1 leans over and speaks my mind. "The folks in this club are like 27." I had estimated 25-32. It was not a young crowd. It was the kinda crowd where you have to wonder how many folks in the room wouldn't rather be booed up in sweats and a t-shirt, sitting on the couch watching SVU. Instead of being in the club looking for someone to get booed up with. It was the kinda crowd where you couldn't help but think, "Is this really what we do? Are we really still doing this?"

By the end of night, I estimated that I have maybe 2 or 3 more nights in the club left in me. And those will likely be spread out over the next couple years. Nothing to be sad about, I did my club days proud. And I have the Facebook photo albums to prove it =). Just can't do it like I used to. Can't say that I want to.

69. Heavy Rotation

Ladies and Gentlemen, I proudly present to you... When Your Life Was Low by Lalah Hathaway and Joe Sample. This is one of those songs you only ever happen upon by accident, but that instantly becomes an indispensable part of your musical life. One of my classmates was playing it when I stopped by her apartment years ago. I do not own a single other Lalah Hathaway song and I don't know who Joe Sample is. This song though... I've never heard anything like it. The way it dances the border between beautiful and bitter. I kinda love it.

Although I never hear from you, still it's nice to know... You used to love me so. When your life was low.

68. The Last Best Post on Marriage

Yes: I am almost thirty.

No: I do not give a smidge about marriage.

No: I do not believe there is a "crisis" of unmarried black woman and/or unavailable black men and/or black men who only want to date non-black women (although I am not a fan of the last one and wish we would learn to problematize and politicize how we view sexual attraction, beauty, love AND marriage since both have been problems and political since, oh yeah, slavery)

Yes: I am an enterprise and I am working on building myself up. Me. Not me plus one.

Yes: I still realize that I am almost thirty. Thirty is a number.

No: I do not want to discuss any of the above with any of my friends, colleagues, family members or even my partner ever again. We have hashed and rehashed the topic, we have circulated articles and YouTube videos and we have successfully used this subject as a foil for all other meaningful conversation.

This is the Last Best Post on Marriage. I mean really...is there anything left to say? Can we talk about the oil spill now?

67. Countdown

After a month of attending graduations, I've decided it's time to stake a claim. So here it is:

I will graduate June 11, 2011. 372 days from now.

Whoomp... There it is.

66. Good Soil

It's no secret that of late I've been adrift in a sea of Goodness: The homies are converging on my Beloved Chicago. I'm sharing an intellectual home with my favorite living writer. And last week I had a perfect view of the second sexiest man alive as he serenaded me with some of the smoothest grooves you ever did hear. So there hasn't been much complaining in PuffLand lately.

There has been a lot of reflecting though. On the one hand, I feel like I owe the universe quite a few favors. On the other hand, the last few weeks have been an interesting counter-balance to a series of L's I've taken over the last year or so.

All this got me to thinking about the things that we reap in life. Some of it I think is random. Into every life some rain must fall. Nothing you can do about it. But a lot of it I think is, if not under our control, at least subject to our influence. We reap some of what we sow. Some of it is lost to chance.

Understanding that, I've made up my mind to sow my seeds in good soil. This will mean passing on some things that would give me a return for a while, but that might very well fail in a critical moment. It means passing on prospects with bad knees and questionable work ethics, however good their numbers are coming out of college. It means walking away from some of the beautiful things, or at least not embracing them so tightly. It means thinking long-term, which I'm okay with. I plan to be here for a while.

65. All That I Remember

In reading, there are some things that stay with you. Friendly ghosts* that you are never really without. This is one of mine. I found it in college, and have never forgotten it.

INCIDENT
by Countee Cullen

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."

I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember.



-------------------------
"Ghosts" trope borrowed from Kismet.

64. Barack Obama Needs a Nap

The President was on Larry King talking about Lebron, Israel, and a bunch of other stuff. I didn't watch it, but I caught a clip on SportsCenter. Your boy looks bad.

At first I thought he just had on too much make-up. Then I noticed the make-up was actually covering the world's largest bags under his eyes. He looked like one of those movie characters who's made up to look 70 when the actor is really 45. Like his face was made of clay.

Poor thing.

63. Sneaker Chics

Once upon a time, I made up my mind to become a sneaker chic. There were a few reasons:

1. I've always thought there was something especially fly about a chic who could be sexy in sneakers. Anyone can pull off sexy in 3-inch heels. But if you can rock some Air Maxes and still be the flyest chic in the room, then you're doing something.

2. Hard as I fight it, I'm a gym shoe girl at heart. Jeans, a t-shirt, and gym shoes everyday. I'm trying to get away from this. But if I could find a way to fall back on it now and then and somehow still be really stylish, that'd be nice.

3. Lupe Fiasco, who I have plans to stalk at some point, is a sneaker dude. And this would give us something in common.

4. I like the idea of adding bright colors to my wardrobe in a functional way (e.g. with something I could wear everyday). This is as an alternative to buying 7 new brightly colored shirts, etc.

So... In my quest for Sneaker Chic style, I've settled on the Air Force 1's in the picture as my intro pair. I think it's a good look. Not too expensive, colorful but not gaudy, should go with lots of stuff. Maybe an early birthday present from Me to me.

62. All the News That's Fit to Print

So I started this blog to make myself accountable for writing on a regular basis. On some level, posting things that aren't written by me, or posting about things other people write, seems to miss the point. But I figure if something is interesting, and if someone is actually going to take the time to read this little project of mine, I should post whatever I feel is worth sharing. With that in mind...

I heard this on the radio this morning. Some debt collectors in Texas have gotten out of pocket with their customers. One of those customers got some crazy stuff on voicemail, lawyered up, and got $1.5 million in damages for the ridiculousness they left on his phone.

In one call they suggested that he raise the money to pay his debt by getting his lazy *ss out of bed to pick some cotton. Oh yeah... Believe it. Click here for the story.

My question is: It's 2010. Who is still stupid enough to say something like that on a voicemail??? And real talk... who is still stupid enough to say it out loud, in mixed company, outside of their own home? I don't know why stupidity bothers me more than racism, but it does. Perhaps it's because since I can't technically prove to you that I'm a worthwhile human being, maybe (just maybe) I understand how you could not think so. But you certainly have evidence enough that screaming racial slurs on tape is a bad idea. What is wrong with you???

61. Writing Workshop: Untitled

i got friends in high places.
look up, familiar faces.
look left, look right, no traces.
i'm the one that fell behind.

i got homies who don't know me,
confidantes who can't console me.
soul brothers and ex-lovers
keep their distance.
i keep mine.

exercise the pen and paper...
exorcise the weight to vapor...
close my eyes and say a prayer.
did it evaporate? or rise?

pour a shot and toast to Death.
throw it back, catch my breath.
this is hell (quiet as kept).
nothing left to do but rise.